Cling and Clatter
by Rapunzel452
Summary: Jam Session 19, set immediately after Pierrot Le Fou. Spike's getting loopy from blood loss; hilarity ensues. Enjoy!


****

Cling and Clatter

He hated parades. He hated theme parks. He especially hated parades _in_ theme parks. None of that explained why he was currently sitting here watching one, of course. Or why the colors were starting to look reeeaaally pretty...

"Spike!" Faye, having finally extricated herself from her ship, came running up. "Are you all right?"

He smirked up at her. "So you did come after me."

"Uh! Well, you know... what are friends for?" she stammered. She turned her attention to the bizarre denouement still marching on in front of them. "God... let's get out of here, huh?"

"Ok," Spike answered amiably.

He didn't move.

"...Spike?"

"Hmmmm?" He drew the sound out lazily.

"I said let's go."

"I know."

"...So let's go."

"Ok."

Still nothing.

"Spike, what's the matter with y--oh my god!" Faye had leaned in to check on him, and as a result noticed the blood coming from his other shoulder. 

"What's wrong, Faye?" Spike drawled out.

She gaped at him. "Um...do you realize you're bleeding? Pretty badly?"

"Eh... I got shot. Shit happens."

Spike's lethargic attitude was suddenly making a lot of sense. "We have to get you medical attention _quick_," Faye said, working his jacket off carefully. She knotted it around his shoulder as a makeshift tourniquet, and took a closer look at his wound. "It's pretty clean--Jet should be able to bandage it up ok." Taking note of the blood drips on the pavement, she added, "Though you might be a couple pints low for awhile." She finished wrapping the injury, Spike watching her the whole time. 

"You're getting blood on my good jacket."

"It's your only jacket, Spike."

He blinked laboriously, digesting this information. "Faye..." he slowly raised a finger and pointed it at her, ready to be at his authoritative best. "You owe me a new jacket."

"...Sure I do. Come on, let's get out of here." Hauling Spike to his feet, Faye helped him back to his ship. Once he was settled in, another problem became clear: "You can't fly like that, can you."

Spike looked at his arm for a long moment. "Nope."

Ten minutes. She hadn't been dealing with him for more than ten minutes, and she was already sick of this. Concerned for his welfare, yes--but sick of this. She sighed heavily. "Ok, just give me a minute to get Red Tail right side up again, and I'll give you a tow." She cast a look of both disgust and worry at his blood-dampened jacket. "Try not to die, ok?"

"I died once before, y'know..." he began.

"Oh, PLEASE don't start that crap again..."

*****

Before too much longer, they were on their way back to the Bebop. Spike was under strict instructions to keep talking so he didn't lose consciousness. This in theory was a good idea; in practice, however... well, suffice it to say that Faye was starting to regret it.

_"What do you want me to say?"_

"Anything--song lyrics, your life story, whatever. Just keep talking to me, ok?"

Cut to the present, where Faye has had to endure way more dazed non sequiturs then anyone should have to. "You know what's great? ... Mustard."

"Yeah. Great," she deadpanned, wondering what she had done to deserve this. There was silence for a few moments... "Spike? Still with me?"

"I'm running out of things to say..."

Relaxing again at his voice, she said, "Look, I don't care what you say. Just keep letting me know you're awake."

"...Is it ok if I read something?"

"Fine by me."

A few thumps came over the intercom, followed by a rustling of pages. Faye's silent question of what he could possibly have to read over there was answered within seconds: "Congratulations on your purchase of a DX-450 monoracer spacecraft, the fastest civilian machine in space. This manual details your new vehicle's specifications and outlines..."

"Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me," Faye muttered.

"...procedures, most of which are covered under warranty. It is strongly recommended that you follow the maintenance schedule outlined on page 14 to maintain optimal performance..."

"Spike?"

"Hmmm?"  
"Read something else."

More muffled noise drifted over the speaker as Spike shifted around in his seat. "Hey...I could read this...'Do Not Remove This Tag Under Penalty of...'" There was a grunt, followed by a ripping noise. "...Faye?"

"Yes?"  
"...I think we're in trouble..."

"Oh, brother..."

*****

Six Post-It notes, three clothing labels, eight take-out menus, one vehicle ID number, and half an owner's manual later...

"Spike?"  
"Yo."

"You're not allowed to read anymore."

"Gotcha."

You know that saying about idle hands? Turns out it still holds true even when you only have one hand you can really use:

"Heeeeeeeyyyyy... guess what, Faye?"

"What?"

"I can still reach the brake controls."

"Good for you."

There was a pause. It wasn't long enough to make Faye start worrying again; though, given what was coming, she probably should have.

*BRAKE*

"What the...?" She jerked in her seat and looked around, bewildered. 

*BRAKE*

"...Oh no you didn't."

*BRAKE*

"You did. Son of a..."

*BRAKE*

*BRAKE*

......

*BRAKE*

"What's the matter, Faye?" Spike called out tauntingly.

*BRAKE*

Faye gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the barrage of sudden decelerations. It's good that he's occupied, she said to herself. It's keeping him conscious. I can fly like this, no problem. It's just a little irritating... nothing big. It's good for him... it's fine... it's fine... it's good for him...

*BRAKE*

"You wanna cut that out?!" she shouted. 

*****

"Faye...?"

"Yeah?"

"...Got a cigarette?"

"...You're kidding, right?"

"No."

"Spike... we're in _different ships_."

"So pull over... you've got a spacesuit with you, right?"

"I hope you live through this just so I can kill you..."

"What'd you say?"

"Nothing!"

*****

"Ok! Ok... ok. I figured it out."

"Is that right." She had absolutely no idea what he'd figured out. She was also sure that, like it or not, he was going to tell her.

"Wench. That's the word I like for you. Or maybe minx... no, wench. Definitely wench."

Faye stared at the speaker, utterly flabbergasted. "...What?!"

"The words Jet and I have used for you before. Wench is the best one. I just figured it out."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know, when we talk about you when you're not there. Words and names and stuff that we call you... yeah."

"And just where do you get off calling me a wench behind my back?"

"It wasn't me, it was Jet... he does all the talking... I don't talk about you... I just listen and... I don't... I just... yeah."

"Wench, huh... and minx, you said? He's called me that too?"

"Yup."

Faye made a mental note to slap Jet upside the head next time she saw him. "Do you boys talk about me a lot?" she asked somewhat smugly.

"I dunno... I guess. You're never around, so that makes it easy."

"Uh-huh... well, what do you say?"

There was a brief moment of rustling as Spike shifted around, getting comfortable. "Let's see... you're a pain in the ass, a moocher, a thorn in our sides, a liability, a walking headache..."

"I get it, Spike," she said curtly.

"...A thief, a liar, an untrustworthy leech..." he went on listing.

"I _get it_, Spike."

"...A disaster waiting to happen, a breath of fresh air, a world-class brat..."

"I said I GET IT... wait wait wait! Go back one!"

"What, breath of fresh air?"

"Yeah. Who said that?"

"I think I did...or maybe I just thought it to myself. Or maybe Jet said it and I agreed with him... ok, to answer your question, I don't know."

"But... you think that about me? That I'm ... a breath of fresh air?"

"Yeeeeaaaaaahh..." he said, sounding overly enamored with the sound of the word.

"Really?"

"Mmmm-hmmm."

Faye thought for a moment, and decided that the chances of him being looped enough to actually be honest with her about this kind of thing again were slim to none. She took a deep breath and got ready to ask him how he felt about her... but before she could, he just started talking about it of his own accord.

"It's kinda not fair, y'know...you shouldn't be that pretty...what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this..." he took a moment to laugh, since jokes like that are hilarious when you're not playing with a full deck. "You're the kind of beautiful that's intriguing... too intriguing, right? Any girl that looks like you has to be trouble. And you are. Funny how that works... but you're right for me too, which is what sucks since you're completely wrong for me..."

Faye startled, and repeated that to herself a few times. Nope, still didn't make sense. "What do you mean, right for you and completely wrong for you? I can't be both."

"No no no, yes you can. 'Cause you are. See?"

"...No."

"It's like... ok. Ok. Sometimes it's almost like we're brother and sister ... except not, 'cause we flirt too much for that ... or at least you do. Why do you do that, anyway? Anyway... I just said anyway. Maybe if we'd met in another lifetime... where I didn't have the Syndicate after me... maybe I ran a bar. Yeah, that'd be nice. Or maybe... maybe I was a musician. Saxophone... nah, trumpet. Always liked trumpet. Miles Davis, good stuff... although he peaked with Kind of Blue, I don't know about his later stuff... still, solid music... and... andandand YOU... maybe you wouldn't be so... so... bitchy. Yeah. That's it...Faye, you'll be perfect for me. As soon as you're...different. Like you could have been...but you weren't... 'cause that was another life that probably didn't exist. You know?"

"...Yeah. I know."

And she did. That was the worst part.

*****

They reached the Bebop about ten minutes later. Jet was waiting, having been radioed in advance by Faye and warned of what she was bringing in. With a few grumbles about always having to put Spike back together when he decided to be a headstrong dumbass, Jet treated his injury. Faye's initial analysis had been right: it was a clean wound, and not very big. They set the Bebop on a course for the nearest asteroid, figuring professional medical treatment was probably a good idea.

"He's lost a lot of blood, but he'll hold out just fine until we land. You wrapped the wound up really well - it's a good thing you were there to help him."

"Yeah, I know... not like that lunkhead appreciates it."

"Heh heh... he might not act like it, but he does. No matter what he might say, he realizes what he owes you."

"Yeah, you're right... oh! That reminds me..."

"Hmm?"

Faye raised her hand and smacked Jet upside the head as hard as she could -- then strolled away, the matter settled.

Jet blinked after her. "What the hell was that all about?"

The End

__

And every word is nonsense, but I understand...

Author's note: Many, many thanks to Matt for his help, and for writing most of the Big Daaaaazed Speech. Thank you, honey.


End file.
